Clare's Secret

Chapter Three-2

Human recourses. Hotel Desert Palms Hotel?

“Thanks Violet. Sorry if it interfered with your work.”

Curious, Violet tries to push a spare length of hanging hair behind her ear.

“No problem. Glad to be of help. I presume it’s an offer of a job now you’re….”

“How do you know what I’m up to Violet? Don’t worry, you’ll still get your rent on time. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

Perturbed by her longtime residence’s sudden change of mood, Violet stares at Clare inserting her key into the front door of her home. When the door opens, and then closes without any acknowledgment, Violet frowns and shrugs her shoulders.

“You don’t have to chew my head off my girl.”

Still on edge, Clare pulls her living area window curtain to one side, and watches Violet muttering outside as she walks out of view.

Sorry violet! My business belongs to me, not half the city. If I want something gossiped about, I’ll inform you.

Closing the curtain, she feels the need to switch on the air conditioning. Is it me? or is it warm in here?

Even though it is early March, these flimsy mobile homes still get hot and stuffy.

While the cool air exudes from the ceiling vents, she decides she needs to change her clothes. After unhanging her one suit from the small bedroom wardrobe, she lays it on the made up double bed. In the meantime, her mind buzzes with what Sheriff Michael suggested.

People know you here. So, to go undercover you need to let your hair down and remove your glasses.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door, she pulls at some hairgrips. Letting her lush, natural wavy chestnut hair fall to her shoulders, she lets it glide through her fingers until she is happy with the outcome. Studying her reflection she unbuttons her shirt, removes it and lays it on the bed. She goes to remove her bra, but undoes her skirt instead. After that has been put to one side, she looks back at her reflection and removes her glasses.

You look fairly presentable for a….

She undoes her bra and lets it drop to the floor. Her heavy breasts give a little bounce as they settle. Curios at what she can see, she reaches up and cups each breast.

Look at the size of those n*****s. They’re not natural. Chuck always joked in his rare horny moods that I had the body ideal for a stripper, not a deputy sheriff.

Mournful of those times, she let’s go and waits for the warm flesh to normalize.

Oh Chuck, what a waste! With all this to do whatever you wanted, you have to go and screw some b***h from the hotel. What did she offer that I couldn’t?

Placing the bad thoughts to one side, she replaces her bra and dresses into the purple suit.

I hate wearing contact lenses.

On arriving at the human recourses office, Clare finds it empty. A woman in her mid-forties standing behind the counter is wearing a black snug fitting dress stretched over a body that would look better if it lost twenty pounds. The white badge pinned on a slight angle to her left breast is engraved as DORIS. Her dark gray eyes scan Clare’s body stopping at her breasts. She then offers her a non-committal smile as a stick of green colored gum becomes entangled in-between her almost straight front teeth while chewing.

“Hi, there! How can I help you?”

Doing her best not to act as a policewoman, Clare’s answers.

“I wish to apply for the CEO’s Personal Assistant position.”

With a quizzical glare, Doris opens the top drawer of a nearby filling cabinet.

“How did you know there was a vacancy?”

In reply to this irritating woman, Clare produces the business card received earlier from Violet. Curios and disbelieving, Doris accepts the card, and then turns to her right, lifts up the receiver of a twenty year old sickly cream-colored push button telephone and presses one of the buttons.

“It’s Doris. I’ve got what you want for that PA’s spot. Okay, will do.”

With a skeptical expression, she turns back to face Clare.

“They seem to be expecting you. Go up the street, turn right toward the hotel. Head straight into the main entrance and go up to the front desk. Inform the desk clerk who you are and your appointment with Heather Bicknall.”

Feeling there should be some sort of paperwork to fill out, Clare inquires.

“Do I need to fill in some sort of application?”

“Heather likes to trust her instincts for this particular position.”

Tentacles of apprehension crawling about in Clare’s insides, she conveys to Doris a sincere smile, and then makes her way to the exit.

As Clare diminishes from view, Doris scratches out a line on a nearby clipboard.

“All we want now is another mug for security.”

On entering the foray of this not too well advertised three star hotel, Clare admits that she is impressed at the quality grandeur. With black marble pillars supporting a twenty-foot high ornate ceiling, and black and white checked marble tiled floor leading up to a long dark paneled walnut counter, this is having more impact than she imagined.

While waiting for a youngish, tall dark and handsome clerk to finish on the phone, she looks around and observes the rest of the splendid surroundings. To her left is an array of fine quality black leather armchairs and sofas arranged in unison on an expensive cream Persian carpet. Past the lush comfort is a busy looking beauty salon. The round woman dressed in a bright blue pants suit is pandering to a small line of curious, but some interested customers.

“Can I help you Ma’am?”

Clare turns toward the smooth seductive voice. She returns his already fixed smile with a sincere one of her own.

“I am Clare Mortimer. I have come to see Heather Bicknall.”

With a confidence not carried by someone so young, he raises his right hand, lifts the telephone receiver from its cradle, and using his index finger of that hand to push a button on another, sickly cream telephone.

“I have a - Clare Mortimer here for you madam. Okay will do!”

The receiver is replaced and the wide pleasant smile from the young man dressed in black, focuses on the anxious looking attractive woman the other side of the counter.

“If you turn right at the end of this counter you will come to an open area. To your left in that area is the atrium. Directly opposite on your right are two office doors; both are marked. Heather’s office is on the left.”

Carrying out the said instructions, and her nerves not cooperating, Clare knocks on the appropriate door. She hears a woman’s voice near the other side of the door.

“Enter!”

Inhaling to ease the tension, and not wanting to be recognized as the former deputy sheriff, she enters the office. Compared to the splendor of the hotel foray, this office is plain and businesslike. Black metal filing cabinets and neat piles of boxes containing old files fill one complete wall on her left. On her right, is a closed plain white door. Straight ahead is a curvaceous woman leaning back against a black steel desk. She is dressed in an expensive black fitted suit cut off at the knees. Clare’s trained observing eyes focus on the black pointed stiletto shoes, a pair of slender ankles. Her eyes continue up a pair of well-defined legs and then wide wholesome hips. After absorbing this fascinating sight, her eyes journey up to a slim waist, heavy breasts, and then the face….

The cropped blond hair and those eyes? The dream? Oh s**t!

The woman in view smirks in reaction to the analysis.

“Do I pass muster?”

Embarrassed at being caught out in an automatic observation procedure, Clare feels her face flush.

The voice!

“I’m sorry, a bad habit of mine. It seems you were expecting me.”

The smirk is being replaced by a genuine smile exposing perfect teeth. The one being observed steps forward with the grace of a nineteen fifties fashion model.

“Oh yes, I certainly was. Anyway, what other ‘interesting’ habits have you got?”

Before Clare can answer, the gap between them lessons to about a foot. Continuing her wide smile, and keeping her voice to a soft seductive tone, Heather puts out her hand.

“Hello Clare. Good English name I see.”

In receiving her hand, Clare notices the well manicured, longer than average unpainted nails. With a firm dry grip, Heather’s deep blue eyes sparkle with a hidden excitement. The dream being resurrected, Clare controls her bubbling emotions and conveys a cordial smile. Hoping her face is not giving away her innermost thoughts; Clare stiffens as Heather reaches out and grips her upper arms.

“My, you are a beauty. Perfect for what I have in store. I have been waiting a long time for you.”

Her arms tingling at this woman’s touch, the gap between them is somehow lessening. Controlling her erratic breathing, Clare notices they are about the same height and size. Focusing on Clair’s eyes and mouth, Heather reaches up with her right hand and strokes Clare’s left cheek.

“You have nice skin. I like that in a woman; especially one that is going to work for me. If you don’t mind, can you unbutton your jacket?”

“Excuse me?”

Heather’s deep ocean pools soften.

“I’m sorry, a bad habit of mine. I should explain. I need to see if you are ‘qualified’ enough to wear a particular costume for our two special entertainment evenings.”

Because of the dream, Clare is becoming prepared for what she thinks is about to happen.

I mustn’t resist her in any way. Don’t forget you’re undercover.

As all four buttons become undone, Heather grips the front of the jacket and opens it wide enough to expose Clare’s heaving chest. For a few seconds Heather’s eyes widen. She inhales and stares hard at the perfect form of Clare’s breasts supported by a skimpy black bra.

“My god, you are absolute perfection….”

Entranced, she guides the tip of her nails over the firm flesh.

“No silicon enhancing. These are the genuine articles.”

With her breasts tingling to the touch, Clare can sense she has had the desired effect on this woman.

I know I’m undercover, but why am I enjoying her touch?

Letting go of the jacket, Heather steps aside to view Clare’s back. To her surprise, Clare feels a hand gripping her buttocks and thighs. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, Heather returns to her former position in front of Clare.

“You are ‘more’ than qualified to wear the costume. I could have done with you years ago. Where have you been all my life?”

Sadness fills the English woman’s eyes. Hiding her vulnerabilities, she offers Clare a wide smile of gratification.

“I see you enjoy wearing deep purple. I have a purple suit. Two great minds think alike?”

Sensing Heather is trying to ‘normalize’ the interview, Clare responds accordingly as she buttons up her jacket.

“My Great grandmother was born in England.”

Heather appears surprised.

“Really? Where abouts?”

“Every time Wimbledon tennis comes around, my mother would always mention her grandmother’s birthplace. Somewhere near the tennis courts.”

Further intrigued by this attractive woman, Heather moves toward and leans back on her heavy black metal desk. Her eyes sparkling with anticipation, she indicates for Clare to sit in a nearby hard chair.

“I know Wimbledon. Very posh, not far from where I was born over thirty-five years ago; a not so posh place called Putney. Anyway, down to business. My husband Basil always likes to have a PA to pander for him, but you work mainly for me. I give the instructions and I expect you to carry them out to the best of your abilities. If your abilities are sufficient, you will go far. Me looking at you now, I think we are going to get on wonderfully. The job is twofold. One, you are my eyes and ears, like an assistant General Manager, and two, for a couple of nights a week you are in charge of our ‘special’ entertainment.”